


home, away

by meloncafe



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baseball, Alternate Universe - High School, Friends to Lovers, Hwang Hyunjin-centric, M/M, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, gratuitous depictions of baseball, my self-indulgence knows no bounds, overall very soft, skz besties
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:16:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29506083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meloncafe/pseuds/meloncafe
Summary: Hyunjin locks eyes with the younger, the corner of his lip lifting into something like a smirk. “I would rock your shit, Kim Seungmin.”“Oh yeah? Prove it.”He gently taps the side of Seungmin’s head. “Just use your imagination.”“That’s definitely something a benchwarmer would say.”(aka, hyunjin moves to seoul, reconnects with his childhood best friend, joins the baseball team, beefs with jisung, finds a family, and falls in love. all in that order.)
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Hwang Hyunjin/Kim Seungmin, Lee Felix/Seo Changbin, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 53





	1. opening pitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **hi hi.** i'm so excited to be sharing this with y'all. a couple of house-keeping notes:  
> -baseball terminology will be used throughout this fic. there's nothing too wild in this first chapter, but i'll provide a glossary of terms in the end notes if i think i've used anything too technical or unable to be understood using context clues  
> -innie is a first year, 00-liners are second years, and everyone else is a third  
> -familiar names and faces may pop up from time to time. they also may or may not have actual personalities lmao sometimes i just be adding shit for ~flavor~  
> -hope you enjoy!!!! i love baseball and stray kids with all of my heart!!!

Seoul is familiar in the same vein that it’s not.

Hyunjin remembers the impression of chrome buildings that stretch towards the sky, rush hour traffic, and a sticky, summer heat. General things that exist in every city; that could be an actual memory, deeply buried, or a facsimile of one he made up to compensate for its lack. In actuality, there is little Hyunjin remembers with any degree of specificity and definitely no recollections that come to him in a series of flashbacks; the complete opposite of what happens in the dramas he sometimes watches on TV.

Hyunjin is the main character, of course.

He also can't describe to you the smell of his old neighborhood, or which bricks on the sidewalk to avoid because they’ve come a little bit loose, or at what time the old man with the cart of recyclables comes by in the morning, the sounds of one perpetually squeaky wheel drifting in through an open window to wake Hyunjin up for school – all things a person would know, instinctively, when they’ve lived and grown up in a place for long enough to comfortably put down roots.

Hyunjin is more like a dandelion seed, made to be scattered by an incoming breeze.

-

Standing inside of his new, unfamiliar bedroom, Hyunjin’s fingers start to itch.

It’s a familiar sensation – one he always gets around this point of a cross-country move – and despite the fact that he has a million and one boxes to unpack, Hyunjin ignores all of that in favor of heading downstairs. He grabs the spare set of keys off of the entryway table and almost makes it out the door before the sound of his mother’s voice stops him dead in his tracks.

“Jinnie? Where are you going?”

He only half-turns around, one foot in and one foot out. “The batting cages.”

She frowns from where she’s standing in the entryway of the kitchen. “Can’t you stay back and unpack this time? Jeongin offered to help you do it when he gets back from his playdate in an hour.”

Hyunjin refrains from rolling his eyes. He doesn’t know why his mom insists on calling them playdates when he is already 17 and Jeongin not much younger. “Just leave it alone. I’ll be back later and will finish up then.”

Hyunjin doesn’t keep too many personal effects anyways, utilitarian when it comes to the life he shoves into some handful of boxes, but still not comfortable with the idea of his stepbrother rifling through his things. Before his mom married Jeongin’s dad, Hyunjin had only met the younger a handful of times, and while he has nothing against the boy, Hyunjin also isn’t keen on spending more time with him than is necessary.

He likes Jeongin too much to get attached.

“Fine,” she concedes. “But be back in time for dinner. We’re going out and celebrating tonight!”

“Sure thing,” he tries to keep the impatience out of his voice. The itch has worked its way up to his shoulders at this point and Hyunjin all but sprints out the door, hands scrambling to retrieve his cellphone from his pants pocket to look up directions to the nearest batting cage. According to Naver, it’s about a 15 minute walk, which Hyunjin trims down to 10, legs pumping beneath him as he navigates the unfamiliar streets in what is to be his new stomping grounds.

Hyunjin’s in too much of a hurry to stop and smell the roses, even though it’s been almost a decade since he’s been back in Seoul. Eight years, to be exact – nearly half of Hyunjin’s lifetime. Since then, he’s been hopping from place to place across the peninsula, never settling in one spot for more time than his mother’s relationships allow. She’s always been the type to skip town whenever shit hits the fan and Hyunjin, long-suffering, resigns himself to being little more than collateral damage in the wake of his mother’s heartbreak.

He’s long since perfected the art of leaving everything behind. Now, he realizes it is much more efficient to give nothing of himself at all.

Eventually, Hyunjin stumbles across HOMERUN. Stumbles across, because if not for the sign, he would have never spotted the hole in the wall location at all. A set of concrete stairs leads down into partial darkness, illuminated only by an industrial light bulb dangling above a brick-brown door. The neon OPEN sign in the window is broken; Hyunjin can barely hear the low hum of electricity indicating that it’s supposed to be turned on.

The inside is not much better, the 80’s calling and made obvious by the outdated arcade machines and tacky, rainbow-squiggle carpeting. The man behind the front desk is entirely disaffected, greasy bangs pushed back with a terry cloth hairband, and sporting a thin, grubby t-shirt that’s starting to yellow at the pits. He gives Hyunjin a quick rundown on the equally rundown facilities, which will serve his purposes just fine. As long as Hyunjin’s able to work out the frenetic energy in his system, anything will do.

“Batting cages are straight through there.” He points towards a backdoor at the far end of the room.

Outdoors, there is a marked improvement; nothing too out of place or outside of what one would expect. The dark green netting seems to have been recently replaced.

Hyunjin is determined to give the front desk man a reason to replace it again.

His blood pounds inside of his veins, pin pricks now compared to the dull TV static of before.

Hyunjin feeds enough paper bills into the token machine to reserve about an hour’s worth of time. The coinage burns a hole in his pocket as he goes to pick out a bat from the rack, carefully rifling through a collection of dented aluminum models before settling on one that’s not as visibly pockmarked as the rest.

The slugger feels weighty in his hand and cold as ice to the touch.

Hyunjin grips it like a lifeline.

Probably because it is.

-

The machine spits out a fastball that Hyunjin drives into right. The vibrations upon contact is a comfort he cannot be without, every molecule in his body getting knocked back into place, the swing of his hips recalibrating what feels like Hyunjin’s very soul.

An hour passes and then another.

It’s simple repetition after that. The batter’s version of a runner’s high – a deeply euphoric state where nothing else matters except for right here, right now.

Inevitably, Hyunjin’s mind wanders to his former teammate and childhood best friend.

It’s funny, really. Even though his early years are kind of a blur, of the memories Hyunjin _does_ retains, they all revolve around a bespectacled boy with a nasally, pre-pubescent voice; bright eyes and knobbly knees, perpetually nagging for Hyunjin to do his homework instead of relying on him to let Hyunjin copy before it’s called to be collected in class.

He wonders what Seungmin is up to and if he still lives in Seoul – if he also thinks about Hyunjin the same way Hyunjin thinks about him (infrequently, but almost always in the middle of batting sessions such as this).

In his head, there is a memory of them that plays out like a movie, having been revisited so often and with more and more detail added each time to the point where Hyunjin isn’t sure what’s real and what isn’t.

The scene is this: two boys in uniform, sitting side by side in the dugout long after baseball practice has ended. The sun is setting in a kaleidoscope of hues, too beautiful a sight to match the sounds of sniffles as the taller boy cries.

“M-minnie,” Hyunjin gurgles, voice and face both equally wet. “I don’t wanna move. And I especially don’t want to move to _Wanju._ ”

“Where is Wanju?”

Hyunjin only cries harder at the question. His nose is running heavier than his tears, more snot than human, and more heartbroken than both. “I don’t know! My mom tried to show it to me on a map but I got too upset and ran away!”

Seungmin laces their fingers together and squeezes in a comforting gesture, palm sweaty and indescribably warm. Seungmin's always warm. “That’s okay. Korea’s not that big. I looked it up the other day and from end to end, it’s only eight hours by car.”

“But neither of us can drive!” Hyunjin wails. “And by the time we’re old enough to get our licenses, you’ll have forgotten about me already!”

“Well that can’t be true.” The younger boy sounds incredibly matter of fact. Hyunjin almost believes him because Seungmin is the most reliable person he knows. He always waits for Hyunjin at the park equidistant from their homes, patient despite the way Hyunjin wakes up late more often than not and the both of them spend their mornings running to get to school on time. Hyunjin claims all the extra exercise will give them an edge during games and to his credit, Seungmin doesn’t roll his eyes even though he clearly wants to. The knowledge that he’s refraining makes Hyunjin’s heart do funny flips. “I’ll never forget about you Jinnie. And not just because you owe me money for at least three screw bars.”

The attempt at humor makes Hyunjin laugh, a water-logged giggle that originates deep in his gut. “Are you going to charge me interest while I’m away?”

“Of course! Compound interest! So you better c-come back soon.” The last part is stilted, broken up halfway through because Seungmin chokes on the words. His smile wobbles, teeters precariously before falling, and now Seungmin’s crying too, big fat crocodile tears.

Hyunjin’s so surprised, he forgets about the rest of his meltdown.

Here's the thing: Seungmin never cries. _Ever._ This is a well-known fact.

Not even when burying the family dog last summer or that time he broke a finger sliding into first did Seungmin shed a singular tear. Tough as nails and even-keeled - that's just who Seungmin is. Hyunjin's rock and his anchor. The one who keeps him grounded.

It registers in his head that this is most vulnerable Seungmin has been since the move was announced and perhaps the most vulnerable Hyunjin’s ever seen him be.

Because of Hyunjin.

Because Hyunjin's moving away.

"M-minnie?"

Up until now, it doesn’t occur to Hyunjin that he might be missed just as much as he already misses; that Seungmin is hurting, too; and that Seungmin is losing his best friend in the entire world just the same.

“Minnie,” he whispers and it is a broken sounding thing. Cracked and jagged down the middle. “Minnie don’t cry.”

Hyunjin goes to wipe the tears away, scrubbing at Seungmin’s face with the heel of his dirty hand. To his credit (and speaking to the younger's devastation), Seungmin lets him.

All the while, the wheels in his head start turning…

…and turning…

_Eureka!_

Half-baked and insane, Hyunjin comes up with a solution for all of their problems.

“Let’s run away together!” He proposes, and in the moment, it feels like the smartest thing Hyunjin has ever said aloud. He wants to give himself a pat on the back for coming up with such a plan.

Seungmin stops crying for long enough to give Hyunjin his signature look: equal parts gracious and entirely fed up. It takes less than a second for the idea to be shot down. “Jinnie we’re eight and besides, I can’t run away – I have a math test next week. It’s important.”

“More important _than me_?”

The younger boy dodges the question. “I’m not running away from home.” And there is a finality to his tone, one that won't allow Hyunjin to convince him otherwise. Seungmin has never had a problem with lacking things like resolve.

“At least you have a home!” he huffs, feeling upset and betrayed. 

Hyunjin refuses to accept the fact that he no longer has a home in Seoul and whatever this new place in Wanju is, it certainly isn’t Hyunjin’s home either. He floats, untethered, without anywhere to belong.

It hurts. Both reality and his heart.

He's only seconds away from crying.

Seungmin softens at the sight, sensing more than knowing the maelstrom of thoughts running amok inside of Hyunjin’s head and the sadness that follows.

He lets Hyunjin cry for a few more minutes before he’s also struck by the sudden thought, straightening up: “What if your home isn’t a place?”

Hyunjin sniffles, confused. “What?”

“Don’t make home a place,” he repeats, and Hyunjin can see the thoughts forming through the windows of Seungmin's eyes. Swirling, bright, and coming unbidden. There's an epiphany stuck on the tip of his tongue. “That way, you never have to leave it behind. Not if you make your home something that won’t ever change, like . . . like my grandma’s hotteok recipe! Or Park Chan Ho’s Major League debut.” He turns and his glasses reflect the dying light of the afternoon sun. The younger boy repeats, “Home doesn’t have to be a place.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

But Seungmin is probably making perfect sense, the way children often do because they're able to see through all the extraneous layers of a problem and cut down to the core of what's important. The unintentional profoundness that accompanies clear, unfettered minds. It reminds him of the time Seungmin said he can sometimes hear music whenever Hyunjin speaks, a melody so distinct and yet unable to be recalled.

For someone so grounded in reality, Seungmin sometimes says things that are so entirely abstract.

“Just think about it, Jinnie.”

And Hyunjin does – think about it, that is.

All throughout the four hour car ride to Wanju, he thinks about it, and at every rest stop and upon seeing every billboard in the distance; until the last leg of the trip, when it finally clicks in his brain what Seungmin is trying to say.

 _Home doesn’t have to be a place._ It can be the way something makes Hyunjin _feel_ – safe, comfortable, and completely at peace.

So obviously, Hyunjin settles on baseball; not so much the sport, but all the little things it entails.

The vibrations that flow from ball to bat to hand, the smell of grass clippings and the summer heat, chalk dust flying as a ball skids down the foul line before it eventually veers fair, the crush of Seungmin’s hand in his own before the start of a game, the warmth of his smile afterwards, regardless of if they win or lose, or if Hyunjin excels or has the worst game of his life.

 _Home is baseball,_ he decides.

Baseball is home.

-

Dinner that night is awkward.

His mom insists on celebrating the move even though all it is is Jeongin’s dad emptying out his study to make room for a bed and Hyunjin’s things. Meanwhile, she’s been flitting around the apartment all day pinpointing spaces that need her personal touch; the nooks and crannies that she fills in like spackle, afraid of leaving gaps large enough to let in any doubts anyone has about her marriage or their cobbled-together family.

Potted plants and flowers make their cheery appearance around the living room while portraits and paintings are hung up in every hallway with care. A throw pillow here and a new set of ceramic plates there. Above the mantle is her wedding photo, a happy couple flanked on either side by their sons, blown up and life-sized inside of a wooden frame inlaid with gold. Pieces of her soul are tucked into every corner of their home.

Hyunjin’s mom wants to integrate herself so deeply and so thoroughly that the thought of splitting up is just that tiny bit harder to conceive.

If Jeongin’s dad suspects the reasoning behind her sudden interest in interior design, he doesn’t comment, and gives into her whims with a smile that his son has obviously inherited and employs.

They all end up in some back room at a traditional-style restaurant, wood tables low to the floor with silk cushioning for seats. Sliding paper doors offer the illusion of privacy while dashed are Hyunjin’s hopes of having the din of the general public serve as a buffer for any awkward silences or to alleviate some of the tension that hangs heavy in the air.

It must be all in his head. The longer dinner drags on, the more Hyunjin worries that he’s the only one who feels out of place since his mom and stepdad are chatting amiably and Jeongin is happily working his way through his second helping of food. Hyunjin, who already doesn’t eat much as it is, is currently pushing around a pile of japchae on his plate.

“Did you want to order something else, son?”

It takes Hyunjin a second to realize that Jeongin’s dad is talking to _him_ and hurriedly clears his throat. “Um, no thanks. I’m not very hungry.”

Sensing his lack of enthusiasm and perhaps afraid that they might take offense to it, Hyunjin’s mom chimes in, “He’s probably just nervous for his first day of school!”

Hyunjin, truthfully, hasn’t even thought about school. In fact, he’s been actively avoiding doing just that.

“Don’t be nervous, hyung!” Jeongin claps him on the back, not with enough force to really feel it, but the sudden contact still takes Hyunjin by surprise. “If you want, we can get up early tomorrow and take a quick tour around. That way, you can get settled and familiarize yourself with your surroundings before homeroom starts.”

“Aw, Jeongin, that’s so kind of you to offer!” His mom sends Hyunjin a pointed look that contrasts with the saccharine quality of her simper. It’s very much a threat, albeit one made with good intentions. His step-brother has been so kind and accommodating, entirely too eager for Hyunjin’s approval, that every time Hyunjin rebuffs one of Jeongin’s attempts at bonding, his smile gets a little bit dimmer, and Hyunjin feels just like a little bit more of a dick.

“That would be...cool.” He knows he doesn’t sound very convincing, but Jeongin beams at him anyways.

-

Hyunjin gets up early the next morning, as promised.

He feels a bit like the walking dead, sluggish as he shuffles around his new bedroom trying to locate his uniform and a clean pair of socks. Without much thought, he throws a notebook and some pens with varying amounts of ink left into the bottom of his bag, before heading out.

Jeongin, an early bird and all-around morning person, is waiting patiently for him at the foot of the stairs.

“Morning, hyung!”

Hyunjin can only nod in response, blearily running a hand through his shoulder-length hair. He's in desperate need of a trim and as he is straightening out his tie, Hyunjin wonders if he should have sacrificed a few extra minutes of sleep in order to put more care into the way he looks. Dress to impress and all that jazz.

Jeongin, as if sensing even the most trivial of his concerns, makes small talk on the way to the bus stop and all throughout the ride, more than comfortable filling in for Hyunjin’s silence, and kindly trying to take the older’s mind off of any anxiety he has about transferring in the middle of the semester.

No matter how many times he’s done this, the first day of school will always be nerve-wracking. Hyunjin tries not to show it, but he’s boiling over with apprehension.

It feels so juvenile to be worrying over whether or not he’s going to make friends, where and with whom he’s going to sit with at lunch, or if his seatmate is gonna be anything like the last one that sprayed spit like a sprinkler whenever he spoke. But Hyunjin can’t help it – even as he tries to distance himself from human companionship, he craves it to a certain extent. Hyunjin needs the validation – he likes to be _liked_. Which isn’t always possible when you hold people at arm’s length and are also painfully shy on top of that.

When they hop off the bus and make the short trek over, Hyunjin’s stomach does somersaults at the sight of the grand entrance gates. Jeongin starts his tour soon after, meticulous in pointing out every little detail and story that comes to mind, his eyes catching onto something and like a word association game, prompts entire diatribes about things only tangentially related (who kissed who under what tree, how a sophomore student got in trouble last year for trying to build entire apartment complexes for the stray kittens he finds beneath some bleachers, etc.)

“...The second year classrooms are all on the second level, which makes sense, but third years are on the first, and first years are on the third. Those doors on the far side over there lead directly into the cafeteria…”

Hyunjin is only half-paying attention. As helpful as the tour is, he’s unfortunately the type of person who needs to walk around and map things out on his own in order to truly learn. At best, this will serve as a primer for Hyunjin’s future explorations.

“...There’s actually an upstairs wing that has been under renovation for years. My friends and I occasionally…”

He can’t help but to marvel at how nice and expansive this campus is. Bigger than his last six combined, it seems.

They’ve almost made a full lap around when Jeongin points out the sports facilities to their right.

“This, obviously, is the soccer pitch. Down the stairs through this path,” he points toward a tree-lined walkway with wooden benches dotted along its length down below, “leads to the baseball field and stadium. Further down are the tennis and volleyball courts, and even further is the indoor pool and gymnasium.”

Hyunjin whistles. “Isn’t this a bit much?”

“Our school is kind of known around here for sports and athletics. We send a lot of kids to different professional leagues and sometimes even the Olympics! Really, the only sport we’re not good at is baseball, but I’m confident we can turn that around in the next few years!”

“What makes you say that?”

Jeongin puffs out his chest with mock hubris, two thumbs pointed at himself. “Because I’m gonna join the team, of course. FYI, tryouts are at the end of the week, in case you were interested.” He’s peering at Hyunjin sideways through slightly narrowed eyes, secretly trying to gauge his reaction but unable to be subtle about it at all.

Cautiously, Hyunjin replies, “What gives you the impression that I would be?”

“I’ve seen the pictures of you in your little league uniform. Your mom says you still keep up with your batting skills, at least.”

 _Ah._ So his mom put Jeongin up to this.

He should probably feel annoyed, but it’s overshadowed by the image of Hyunjin playing baseball again. Fielding a ball and throwing to home. The possibility of it tugs at some loose strand in Hyunjin’s heart – the one he can never properly tuck away because his love for the sport is hard to contain, despite how long it’s been since he’s last played.

Except for as fast as the daydream appears, it’s thoroughly extinguished again. He can't risk it.

_Not again._

Jeongin looks at him with anticipation. “So are you going to do it?”

“Do what?” He’s playing purposefully dumb, scratching the back of his neck in a show of nonchalance. 

“Try out for the team!”

Hyunjin shrugs, tearing his eyes away from the direction of the baseball field and the corner of the diamond he can sort of make out. It pinches his heart when he replies, “Probably not.”

Truthfully speaking, Hyunjin hasn’t played an actual game since elementary school, and stopped trying after the second time he’s forced to quit a team mid-season when another one of his mom’s new relationships fizzles out.

More than he loves playing, Hyunjin hates the feeling of walking out on his friends and letting everyone down, especially in the midst of playoffs when an empty roster spot can mean life or death for their championship aspirations. He's parted on less than good terms with friends before because of it.

Hyunjin sticks to the batting cages after that, because hitting is the one aspect of baseball that he can do by himself. All of his other skills suffer as a consequence but Hyunjin wants to believe that he never quite loses his edge (or as much of an edge as a ten year old can possess). He’s convinced that his reflexes remain quick and that his defensive mind is still sharp; that Hyunjin might still be a decent fielder, even after all of this time.

In the silence that follows, he senses that Jeongin wants to ask the reason why, and is biting his tongue, well-bred manners winning out over his innate curiosity. Hyunjin is curious if they’ll ever get to a point in their relationship where he’ll want to volunteer that information unprompted.

(The answer, of course, is yes. Deep down and against his will, Hyunjin knows that it will probably happen sooner rather than later, just because seeing the pinch of Jeongin’s eyes and the slight purse of his lips makes Hyunjin feel a sort of guilt he’s never experienced before in his life and he’s not sure if he can handle it. Being the reason why Jeongin is even marginally upset, that is. His stepbrother is entirely too powerful and Hyunjin is entirely too powerless to resist.)

They continue on with the rest of the tour.

-

Hyunjin wishes he were as witty in real life as he sometimes is in his head, where he acts out entire scenes in which he is the effervescent new kid able to sweep everyone away with a funny joke or an especially clever one-liner. Because in his imagination, self-introductions never feel as painful as they do in real life where Hyunjin stands in front of his new classmates and wracks his brain trying to come up with a fun fact to share.

Eventually, after enough time has passed where it’s starting to get awkward because Hyunjin hasn’t spoken yet and their homeroom teacher inches closer by the second, he settles on: “Hi, I’m Hyunjin. I moved here from Daejeon.”

All of which is true, but not particularly _interesting_.

The feeling of everyone’s stares as he takes an empty seat in the back - without a deskmate because the addition of himself makes the class size oddly numbered - raises the hair on the back of Hyunjin’s neck. He suspects people have managed to grow eyes behind their heads because whenever he looks up and looks around, there isn’t anyone obviously peering back at him despite the stifling feeling of being watched. The only evidence he has of this happening is the sound of rustling of hair as they whip back around or the occasional whisper of his name under someone’s breath, oftentimes pressed between a giggle.

As a result, Hyunjin is distracted all throughout morning lessons, unable to focus and identify the gaps in his knowledge between the last school and this current one. For all he knows, Hyunjin could be majorly behind and in desperate need of playing catch-up. Only at this rate, he may never find out, because Hyunjin is hyper aware of the way his leg is bouncing up and down and how he has to fist the material of his slacks above the knees to keep still.

By the time lunch rolls around, Hyunjin’s appetite is zero, and rather than heading to the cafeteria with the rest of his classmates, bypassing a few hopeful gazes and impending invitations, Hyunjin hooks a right down the hall and wanders until he finds an older wing of the school whose reconstruction he remembers Jeongin saying was put on pause after the budget had been reassigned to something else.

He finds the absence of people here comforting and pauses to peer around.

It’s nothing so dramatic as dilapidated ceilings, holes in the floor and the pervasive feeling of rot, but this place _is_ visibly older than the rest of the school and not as frequently cleaned.

Or cleaned at all.

Hyunjin already spots a trail of cigarette butts and discarded chip bags scattered throughout the hallway. The only thing that separates the two spaces, old and new, is a line of badly frayed rope, a couple of safety cones, and a “NO TRESPASSING” sign that’s almost completely scribbled out save for three choice letters in the middle.

Hyunjin side-steps all of that and heads inside, wandering aimlessly while keeping an eye on the time. He’s fascinated by the existence of this part of the school, but still doesn’t want to be late heading back, and causing himself to stand out even more than he already does.

He passes and pauses to look into a string of empty classrooms, rows of desks all slightly out of line, and chalkboards covered in graffiti tags and crude illustrations of dicks and equally phallic objects. The atmosphere of it all makes Hyunjin feel like he’s stepped into the twilight zone, suspended in some alternate universe that is simultaneously real and not real, like how he imagines characters in manhwas when they’re not drawn into or involved in the action happening at the forefront.

Shortly after, his exploration finds him stumbling upon an exit stairwell leading up to the roof. The door is propped open in a way that seems way too intentional, suggesting that maybe Hyunjin is not as alone as he thinks. He considers turning back, not really in the mood to run into strangers or possibly delinquents, but the prospect of fresh air and a bird’s eye view has him hesitating before Hyunjin figures that the roof is big enough that if he wanted to avoid confrontation, he could probably get away with it.

Determined, Hyunjin climbs the additional two flights of stairs leading up to a terminal landing. Through the slight crack in the door, he can make out the vast expanse of a cloudless blue sky.

A spring breeze whistles through.

He forges ahead.

Upon first glance, it seems as if nobody else is there. Hyunjin peers around looking for any signs of life and the relatively flat landscape of the rooftop helps in revealing no other visible souls. Hyunjin is, however, afforded a great view of campus grounds; all of the different sports facilities and green spaces and his schoolmates down below.

He’s almost convinced he’s alone until he hears the sound of someone quietly clearing their throat.

“Over here.”

The voice is coming from somewhere up above. Hyunjin follows the sound of it to his right, vision stopping at the edge of a storage building with a rusted ladder climbing up the side and at the very top, a head of brown, wind-ruffled hair. Hyunjin can make out wire-rimmed glasses and a strangely familiar face.

The figure grins, not as wide as he remembers it being in the past, but containing a warmth that hasn’t faded throughout the years.

Backlit by the sun, Kim Seungmin waves.

“Long time no see, Hyunjinnie. How have you been?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Player Profile: #23 Yang Jeongin**  
>  **Age:** 16  
>  **Position:** Left Field  
>  **Slashline:** .351/.490/.927  
>  **Scouting Report:** Agile fielder, gets good jumps on fly balls. Decent throwing arm. Speed demon on the base paths; don't leave him alone for too long because he _will_ steal a base on you. Hits more for contact, but has the occasional pop.  
>  **Other Notes:** Maknae On Top
> 
> fun fact the file name for this fic on my computer is: i'm gonna write a baseball au that is so self-indulgent. and boy do i deliver.
> 
> in between updates, you can find me [here](http://www.twitter.com/stansmola)
> 
> lastly, any and all future skz work will be posted under this account. my previous (anonymous) fics will be bookmarked in case you wanted to check those out :) 


	2. small ball

It somehow doesn’t feel real, running into Seungmin like this. Out of all the rooftops of all the high schools in Seoul, what are the chances that they would meet again at this one?

_“How have you been?”_

Hyunjin blinks back at the question, dazed and very much confused.

As much as he’s thought about him over the years, Seungmin has always been categorized as a figure from Hyunjin’s past; there and done with because Hyunjin’s since turned the page.

So imagine his surprise to see that same figure leaping from the confines of that book and into real life, right before him now, corporeal and changed.

Hyunjin shields his eyes against the sun for further inspection, taking in the other boy’s appearance, much the same but somehow different as well; more filled-out and mature without having compromised the essence of Seungmin. He seems every bit the nerd Hyunjin remembers, wire-rimmed glasses and a school uniform that is pressed to perfection.

“What are you doing up there?” he manages to croak out, after a stunned minute of silence.

Seungmin must see his lips moving, but can’t hear the words. “You’re too far away!” he bellows and has the added benefit of the wind carrying over his voice a little further. Hyunjin notes the way puberty has lowered its register while maintaining all of his signature nasality. “Come up here and talk!”

Hyunjin’s body follows suit even though his mind is slow to process anything going on. He shuffles awkwardly up the ladder and ignores how the rungs feel unsteady beneath his feet.

Seungmin greets him at the top. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he parrots, and then, “What are you doing?”

Up here, at this point, in this place? - the possibilities are endless for ways in which to interpret Hyunjin’s question.

Seungmin takes it literally and tells him, “I’m hiding” and presses a finger to his lips. Like there’s somebody below and Hyunjin’s in danger of blowing their cover.

As it stands, there is nothing on this rooftop except for the two of them and the sky up above. It feels a little like old times.

The nostalgia hits him like a ton of bricks.

Hyunjin hauls himself up over the lip where the building and ladder connect. He’s rather pleased to discover that he still has a slight height advantage over the brunette by a few centimeters at least. “From what?”

Seungmin laughs and that, too, is a familiar sound. “From _who_ is the more accurate question and the answer is everyone.”

He leads them to a rickety set up of wooden pallets atop a few cinder blocks and motions for Hyunjin to take a seat.

“Because?”

“Because of baseball try-outs at the end of the week.” Seungmin unleashes a long-suffering sigh. He distributes his weight back onto his forearms and palms, leaning back to tip his chin towards the sun. Hyunjin watches him roll his neck and how his eyes flutter shut. “If I’m not helping out with logistics, then I’m recruiting for players, and if I’m not recruiting for players, I’m letting a newcomer pick my brain for advice. All of which is normally fine and dandy, but I really need a break today.”

Hyunjin is sympathetic. Being so dependable is both Seungmin’s greatest strength and cross to bear – a dichotomy that has persisted throughout the years, it appears.

“Should I go then?” Hyunjin really hopes Seungmin doesn’t send him away, even if he’s not sure how to hold a proper conversation with such a blast from his past. So many years have passed since Hyunjin left for the first time – it’s wishful thinking to believe that they can so easily revive the effortless camaraderie of the past, if it were even possible to revive it at all. They’re so much older now, both second years in high school, with shared experiences diverging into two separate paths, nothing to tie them together other than their memories, which may have faded over time.

At least Seungmin’s may have.

Hyunjin remembers far too much. When it comes to his childhood, Hyunjin’s memories are a veritable warehouse of useless details he can recall about Kim Seungmin.

“No, not at all. We should catch up.” He pulls his legs up onto the seating area, criss-cross applesauce as he turns to face the older boy. The full weight of Seungmin’s attention is unsettling, so Hyunjin looks around to peer at his surroundings instead. He makes out someone’s half-hearted attempt at setting up a trash and recycling station in the corner, a chess board and other games stacked neatly in a pile, and a couple of potted plants (none of which, surprisingly, are dead or dying).

“I see you come here often.”

Seungmin nods. “The rooftop’s kind of a hidden gem, although sometimes you catch people coming up here to smoke and skip class.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” he teases and Hyunjin’s surprised to find the banter coming so naturally to him.

“I already told you that I’m currently under cover. Keep up, Hwang.”

They go back and forth like that for another minute, quick-witted quips, before Seungmin repeats his earlier question. “So, how have you been?”

It flips a switch in Hyunjin’s brain. He already approaches most conversations rather clumsily, but conversations that veer too close to being personal puts Hyunjin immediately on the defensive.

“You’re going to have to be more specific.” He wonders how much small talk this will entail, how much detail Seungmin wants him to provide, and the depth to which Hyunjin is willing to take anything he divulges.

The brunette merely shrugs. “Whatever you feel like talking about, I guess.”

He wishes it would be acceptable to talk about none of it, ever.

Tentatively, Hyunjin tells him about Wanju and then Hwaseong, skipping over the three other pit stops in between, the best foods to eat from each and a few boring anecdotes, as well.

Halfway through, he starts getting self-conscious about the lack of stories he has to share. Hyunjin didn’t really lead much of a life outside of going to school and occasionally the batting cages. Thus, his photo gallery is woefully plain and cannot serve as a supplement to anything he reports.

Fortunately, Seungmin doesn’t really allow things to get too awkward. He’s an attentive listener who has a sense of when to ask a follow-up question or provide some small commentary to whatever Hyunjin is saying.

Growing up, he was always the more extroverted of the two, even though it might not have seemed that way because Hyunjin operates in extremes, loud at his highs and sullen when he’s low. Seungmin, on the other hand, is much more even-keeled and understands how to maintain the temperature of a conversation, the push and pull nature to keep it going past pleasantries.

Talking to Seungmin is also easier, in a lot of ways. They’re not starting from scratch so he knows how to recognize when Hyunjin is just being shy or when he genuinely wants to be yeeted from a situation. He’s also so quietly open-minded, Hyunjin inherently wants to trust Seungmin with every thought that passes through his brain, unconcerned that it might be used against him or get interpreted the wrong way. Hyunjin has so many useless thoughts, it’s nice to have someone who can filter it for him in real time, and be able to point out when Hyunjin is justified in his concerns and when he’s being straight up ridiculous. That was the case when they were young and Hyunjin suspects that this aspect of Seungmin remains much the same.

Eventually, the topic of baseball comes up again. “Are you trying out for the team?”

Hyunjin runs a hand through his hair, trying to keep his voice steady when he admits that, “I haven’t played in years.”

It’s not technically a lie - Hyunjin _hasn’t_. Not enough of it to feel comfortable showcasing the more dormant parts of his playing skills, anyways.

There’s an unreadable look in Seungmin’s eyes as he assesses the admission, a short moment that stretches out into an eternity, before he reaches some internal conclusion that Hyunjin is not privy to. Then he muses, casually, “It could be like riding a bike. Muscle memory and all that.”

Hyunjin scratches the back of his neck. “I haven’t really kept up with conditioning or anything like that either.”

“Really? Your body seems fit enough.” The way Seungmin says this without even blinking makes Hyunjin flush from head to toe. He doesn’t even know when Seungmin found the time to eye up him enough to make that kind of assessment.

“It’s just my metabolism.”

Seungmin doesn’t look like he believes him, but lets it drop before Hyunjin dies of embarrassment. “Still, you should give it a shot. In case you haven’t heard, we’re not exactly the Samsung Lions. I’m sure you’ll make the team if you were to try out. I wouldn’t even have to pull any strings.”

He feels the nudge of Seungmin’s shoulders against his own, a pressure that knocks him slightly off-balance. The contact is unexpected but not unwelcome. Hyunjin coughs to dispel the subsequent tingling that occurs and asks, “Are you sure you're not on recruitment duty right now?”

“Maybe.” His smile widens. “How am I doing?”

“Not well, but it’s not your fault. I’m a tough egg to crack.”

“You didn’t used to be,” Seungmin pouts. There’s something almost fond in his expression. “You used to do everything I say.”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Yah, why are you painting me out to be someone without conviction?”

At his whining, Seungmin laughs, eyes crinkled and both rows of teeth on display. “It’s not that you lacked conviction. It’s just that you only ever wanted to do what’s best for everyone and so deferred to people who you thought knew better to make decisions.”

“Wow, I was such a spineless loser back then.” Hyunjin barely holds back a grimace.

The star of his childhood memories shakes his head, quiet when he admits, “No, the Hyunjinnie I remember just had a really big heart.”

-

When lunch ends, Seungmin walks him back to the hallway where their classrooms are located. Hyunjin’s thankful because he’s not sure if he could have found his way back on time on his own, too caught up in his earlier explorations to properly chart his path.

It feels as strange as their meeting, walking side by side, trying to match Seungmin’s strides.

“What class are you in?”

Hyunjin takes a second to recall. “D, I think.” As a transfer student with mish-mash records as a result from moving too often, he gets relegated there along with the other lower-ranked students and one foreign exchange kid from Australia. Despite this, Hyunjin has never been the type to study hard or perform well on tests, so via natural selection he might have ended up there regardless.

Seungmin nods. “Oh, cool. I’m in A.”

It’s not a flex, but Hyunjin jokingly interprets it as one. “Because you’re still a huge nerd, I know.”

They stop beside Seungmin’s class, situated on the opposite end of Hyunjin’s own. People are starting to trickle back in for afternoon lessons.

As he’s contemplating how to give a cool goodbye, Seungmin casually beats him to it.

“I’ll see you around!” And with a wave, the brunette disappears into the room. It happens so suddenly. A dismissal that is simple and to the point.

Hyunjin’s stunned and stands rooted in place.

It feels out of character for Seungmin to provide no follow-up plans or offer to exchange numbers or anything of the sort. Of course, now that they go to school together, Hyunjin shouldn’t feel too pressed about the lack of closure, except for the fact that he _does_. Feel pressed about it, that is.

They’d been separated and were reunited again after so long, would it kill Seungmin to give Hyunjin some sort of assurance that they won’t drift apart? Unless, at some point during their lunch date, Seungmin had decided that it wasn’t worth the effort of picking back up their friendship? Maybe Hyunjin had changed too much, and not for the better, an exaggeration of all of his worst traits: petty, an overthinker, moody, and prone to dramatics.

Or perhaps it’s a case of He’s Just Not That Into You – because Hyunjin’s always had a habit of throwing too much of himself into a situation and putting too much stock into something than would otherwise be warranted. His friendship with Seungmin might qualify as something along those lines.

A few years removed, Hyunjin is objective enough to recognize that Seungmin had always felt like something a little more than just his best friend – something infinitely more intense and overwhelming, but not so well-defined that Hyunjin can clearly spell it out, even now.

That feeling still persists, reignited upon meeting face to face, only somewhat subdued as a natural result of time and distance and everything else in between.

One would think it would be easier to keep in touch because they’re older and technology like cellphones and the Internet exist. Except the older Hyunjin gets, the more he understands that communication at any age will always be hard.

As the saying goes, it takes two to tango, and it seems as if he and Seungmin are no longer in sync.

-

**Jeongin (15:05 KST)**

Hi hyung I gotta stay back and talk to my Biology teacher about my quiz score

If you wait for me by the front gates I can be down in 10 minutes!

Please don’t leave without me ㅠㅠ

Hyunjin was definitely going to leave without him had Jeongin not sent those messages in time.

Now, he feels a moral obligation to comply despite the fact that he can navigate himself back to the apartment complex just fine.

He walks around for a bit instead, figuring it would be better to wander than to stand and wait out in the open for Jeongin to be done. It also helps Hyunjin get a better lay of the land, building out his mental map of campus, starting with the sports facilities he didn’t have a chance to properly check out that morning.

To his utter amazement, everything appears state of the art and well-maintained, down to the expensive astroturf found exclusively at country clubs, estates, and in most of the major league premises. Curiously, Hyunjin questions exactly how much of the school budget is funneled into sports programs and equipment, and by how much it exceeds the expenditure on academics itself. (Is that even allowed? He’s sure there is some parent-teacher association out there throwing a fit. At least the ones with SKY aspirations, that's for certain.)

Hyunjin meanders down the path towards the other facilities, feet carrying him rather than some conscious driving force. If it were up to Hyunjin, he would be avoiding the baseball field altogether, but as it is, he is weak-willed and curious as to what (or who) he’ll find over there.

He doesn’t actually make it that far before the sounds of grunting draw Hyunjin’s attention over to the free-standing building that serves as the joint locker room for the soccer and baseball teams. Hyunjin spots a shorter, vaguely familiar blonde practicing his swing beneath the neighboring maple tree.

Every time his hips twist and his face comes into view, Hyunjin is briefly mesmerized by the appearance of freckles scattered across sharp cheekbones and a delicate, button nose.

It takes a second to place him, but Hyunjin eventually figures out that this is the foreign exchange student in his class, Lee Felix, whose arrival predates Hyunjin’s by two whole months and yet is still on the receiving end of the occasional whispers and stares. The boy is very pretty after all, with a rumbling voice that speaks stilted, accented Korean.

More than his looks, what stands out is Felix’s swing.

It’s . . . borderline atrocious.

While Hyunjin isn’t normally the type of interject or bother strangers (because even though they are classmates, Felix is still a stranger), his swing is entirely unbalanced and if not fixed, could lead to a serious injury down the road.

Hyunjin approaches slowly and is a few paces away before he calls out, “Choke up on the bat a little and drop your shoulders when you swing.”

The sound of Hyunjin’s voice startles the stranger so much he lets go of his bat mid-swing and it flies neatly over Hyunjin’s head, almost knocking him out. He watches the wooden projectile bounce and land in the patch of grass a few feet away.

“Sorry!”

“No worries. It was my fault for surprising you.” He goes to retrieve the object and then hands it back.

Felix thanks him and says, “Did you say something to me earlier?”

Having to repeat himself makes Hyunjin feel embarrassed, because it occurs to him: who is he to tell this stranger what to do?

Not wanting to stutter, he carefully says, “It’s just that your swing is slightly off. You could hurt yourself if you keep it up.”

“Oh?” The surprise is evident in Felix’s face. He mimes his swing again, as if to double check that this is what Hyunjin is referring to, and that they haven’t gotten lost in translation.

“Yeah.” The taller approaches with hesitant hands hovering in the air, a silent request for permission, which Felix grants with a nod and allows Hyunjin to make the proper adjustments. He moves Felix’s hands further up the bat, to allow for more control, and pushes his shoulder blades into a more comfortable, relaxed position. “Try it now.”

“So are you on the baseball team?”

Uncomfortably, he clears his throat. “No.”

“Trying out?”

“Also no.”

“Oh, then–” Felix quietly trails off, not wanting to sound as if he’s accusing Hyunjin of not knowing what he’s talking about.

But if there’s one thing Hyunjin knows, it’s batting.

He tries to explain, “You don’t have a bad swing.” (A lie.) “You just need to tweak the mechanics a bit so you don’t wear down your rotator cuff over time and it’s easier on your body if you find yourself in a longer at-bat. But, obviously, you don’t have to listen to me.”

Hyunjin backs up, sheepish. He’s not sure if Felix understood half of the things he said and really, was it any of Hyunjin’s business in the first place?

Sensing his internal distress and not without sympathy, Felix merely grins, his naturally sunny disposition shining through and channeling waves of reassurance.

“Doesn’t hurt to try, right?” Felix fully embraces Hyunjin’s advice, does a couple of swings, and seems to immediately feel the difference.

“Woah,” he breathes, looking back at Hyunjin who is observing the other’s movements with care. “That’s insane.”

At the same time, Hyunjin gets a text from Jeongin saying that he’s ready to go.

He points at his phone in lieu of giving an excuse to leave. Hyunjin wouldn’t know how to continue this interaction past helping Felix with his swing anyways.

“Good luck with tryouts,” he says and turns back around.

-

The welcome parade continues all throughout the next few days with people approaching him before classes and during break times trying to engage him in friendly conversation. Hyunjin is polite, doesn’t give answers more than a handful of words at a time, and shows the minimum amount of interest in a conversation so as to not offend the other person, but also doesn’t allow them to form much of an opinion about Hyunjin either. Or not one strong enough to encourage further interaction, at least.

Felix drops a carton of banana milk on his desk with a quiet thanks the next morning, but doesn’t go out of his way to do much more than that, for which Hyunjin is thankful.

He sticks mostly to himself, which means it isn’t long before the whispers start up about him being an Ice Prince who thinks he’s better than everyone else. Hyunjin doesn’t really mind since it’s nothing he hasn’t heard before, and it also guarantees that people leave him well enough alone. He’s just trying to graduate in peace.

Still, a small part of Hyunjin wonders if maybe he shouldn’t be so aloof, and is quietly hopeful that his mom’s remarriage offers a little more permanence than her previous flings. After all, Hyunjin has _A Family_ now. (This is the message that everyone’s been collectively drilling into his head ever since Jeongin’s dad popped the question. Like whatever he and his mom were before could only measure up to being broken pieces of a whole).

The illusion of stability feels tentative, at best.

And anyways, his one attempt at making a friend has since stagnated since Seungmin has not returned to the rooftop since that Monday when Hyunjin first arrived. It appears as though he’s returned to his usual routine of being everyone’s pillar of support.

Hyunjin rarely sees the younger around as it is, but when he does, Seungmin is always accompanied by someone or another, usually a boy with unnaturally round cheeks, and they are usually engaged in conversation so Hyunjin doesn’t have an opening to engage him in the first place.

Not that he’s looking for an opening. He _isn’t._

Seungmin always looks a little hurt when they pass each other silently. The last time this happens, he even tries to say “Hi”, only Hyunjin pretends not to see him and keeps his eyes trained ahead.

He’s hurt in turn when Seungmin’s friend loudly asks, “Do you know him or something?” and Seungmin quietly replies, “I used to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Player Profile: #01 Lee Felix Yongbok**  
>  **Age:** 17  
>  **Position:** First Base  
>  **Slashline:** .360/.378/.942  
>  **Scouting Report:** An unorthodox choice to play first base - he's not very tall and can't stretch out quite as long, but has a vacuum for a glove and is agile enough to make up for the fact. Bats leadoff, does not hit for power.  
>  **Other Notes:** His biggest weakness is that other team's hitters are highly motivated to reach first base, just to be on the receiving end of his smile. Demands cuddles in the dugout.
> 
> head empty, only thinking about the fact that bang chan ended his insta drought just to upload a selca of his fursona.
> 
> lmk what u think!!!! am very excited for the next few chapters as we slowly get introduced to the rest of the boys :)


	3. backdoor slider

Family dinners are nice, he supposes, and are marginally less awkward compared to the ones they had when everyone was first introduced. At the very least, Hyunjin doesn’t want to wither away every time it’s his turn to talk about his day and is a little more forthcoming than just the simple “same old, same old” phrase he used to provide in the past. It also helps that Jeongin has learned to tell when Hyunjin is approaching his limit, happy to pull attention away by providing witty side commentary or launching into the occasional tangent.

Bit by bit, Jeongin is wearing Hyunjin down. He doesn’t understand how a human being can be so cute and especially one that isn’t actually that much younger than Hyunjin himself.

It’s just that Jeongin is so exceedingly _lovely_. From head to toe, everything from his narrow, fox-like eyes to a set of cheekbones that can be seen from space, Jeongin is lovely. And the way he speaks, sometimes bluntly and sometimes clumsily, being a perfect cover for his overwhelming kindness.

Hyunjin doesn’t know a kinder kid.

Still, there are moments when Hyunjin feels like a fish out of water, passively watching as family ties form all around him while he continues to be the proverbial bull in a china shop.

When Jeongin tosses out a casual, “Hey mom, can I get another serving of rice?” it short-circuits something in Hyunjin’s brain. The chopsticks he’s holding clatter noisily onto his plate.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise to hear the casual address when their parents had been dating for nearly a year before getting married and Jeongin has always craved a mother figure, growing up without one for the better part of his life. Hyunjin’s not necessarily selfish, it’s not that he can’t and won’t share his mom, but it’s just surprising is all — the weight of a name and the permanence of a connection it implies.

Hyunjin recovers smoothly enough, making out as if he had dropped the chopsticks in order to take a sip of water instead. Dinner commences regularly after that, although his mom _does_ shoot him a concerned side-eye once or twice more throughout the meal.

She’s going to want to talk after this, Hyunjin knows. She’s been somewhat regular about checking in, sitting at the foot of his bed with all the energy of a nervous bird about to take flight, but there’s only so many times he can mindlessly assure her that he’s doing fine and that he doesn’t begrudge her for anything that Hyunjin can take and still stay sane.

So he slips out quickly after dinner, shouting to no one in particular that he’s heading to the convenience store, and doesn’t wait for a reply.

The night breeze blows cool against his face. Hyunjin takes his time, meandering towards the GS25 around the corner, and spending no less than five minutes in front of the refrigerator section debating between three different flavors of milk. He wonders if the cashier behind the counter is watching him surreptitiously through security cameras and if they’re judging him for being so indecisive over nothing.

Meanwhile, Hyunjin’s leaning towards banana.

“If you need a second opinion, I’d go with the banana.”

“Holy–”

He twists around to see Seungmin, black gym bag slung across his torso and resting next to the jut of his hip.

“It's fundamental,” he elaborates when Hyunjin doesn’t immediately respond.

Partially out of alarm at being jump-scared, his brain is slow to catch up, trying to get a handle on a reality where he can just casually run into Seungmin at a convenience store at eight o’clock at night.

“Do you live in this neighborhood?” Hyunjin can’t believe that Seoul is this small. The coincidences keep piling up, he's starting to think it's Fate.

The brunette nods. “We moved here before Noona started high school. The quality of education is better, apparently.”

He has faint recollections of an older girl with wispy bangs perpetually tucked back into a roller; how his cheeks would throb whenever she entered a room, remembering the way she would pinch them between her fingers in a forceful show of affection. _“Pretty Hyunjinnie, how are you? Have you eaten?”_

“How is she doing?” Hyunjin genuinely wants to know.

“She’s on a pre-med track at Dongguk. Supposed to graduate in the fall.”

“Your parents must be proud.”

“We all are.” Seungmin smiles and grabs four cartons of milk. The way he’s able to hold two in each hand is impressive and also weirdly attractive. Hyunjin forces his gaze away from the veins that form on the back of Seungmin’s hand and up to his face instead. His skin looks soft beneath the overhead fluorescents.

“My treat,” he offers. “In return for a favor.”

“Technically, that would make it a bribe.”

Seungmin looks the picture of innocence, wide smile cavity-inducing as he leads Hyunjin to the register, setting down the milk cartons and a packet of Hi-Chews for good measure. “Think of it more like a business transaction. Changbin-hyung cancelled on me last minute so I need someone to play catcher.”

“What makes you think I’m just going to drop all of the important stuff I have going on to help you out?”

“You’re doing something important?” Seungmin eyes Hyunjin’s ratty gym shorts and slippered attire.

“No,” Hyunjin admits. “But what if I was?”

With the utmost confidence, he claims, “You would have dropped everything to help me anyways.”

“Because?”

The younger grins. “I bet you’re dying to see how much I’ve improved over the years.”

And the thing is, he’s not wrong. Hyunjin _is_ curious about the player Seungmin has become.

But Hyunjin thinks he would have followed Seungmin anywhere. Banana milk bribes or otherwise.

-

They end up at a small park right outside of Seungmin’s apartment complex. At this time of night, the only people there are the two of them and a group of middle schoolers by the swing set passing around a soju bottle in a bag. Hyunjin fully expects Seungmin to do something like scrunch his nose in disapproval and complain under his breath, but the younger takes one look and puts it immediately out of mind.

“There’s too many of them and only one bottle to share. Definitely not enough for anyone to get tipsy, much less actually get drunk.” When he glances over at Hyunjin's expression, Seungmin breaks out into a whine, “Would you stop looking at me like that? I’m not the total narc you think I am.”

Hyunjin laughs at the implication of Seungmin being only a partial narc, when it suits him.

They slip around the chain link fence separating the playground from the field and pick two points 18 meters apart to set up. Hyunjin feels very ill-prepared to be doing any sort of physical activity, even if it’s just him squatting and catching Seungmin’s pitches. He's still in his slippers, after all.

“How’s the glove fit?” Seungmin yells.

Hyunjin gives it a few punches, trying to mold the material better and firmer against his hand. He isn’t used to playing with a glove, much less one the unwieldy size of a catcher’s mitt, but something about the scent of leather feels nostalgic and comforting, and calms his nerves. After a minute, he gives Seungmin the thumbs up to start tossing, lightly at first to warm up, before the pitcher starts unleashing his best.

It only takes a few pitches after long-toss for Hyunjin to recognize the leaps and bounds by which his friend has improved. Unsurprising, considering how hard Seungmin works and the diligence with which he applies to all things. Baseball is no exception.

When you’re young, the only pitch you really know how to throw is a heater, and if you’re good, you can isolate the strike zone into more or less equal halves (left and right or up and down). Seungmin, at eight, could split the strike zone into quadrants and was relatively good at pitching the ball where he wanted it a majority of the time. Years later, at 17, Seungmin is downright surgical in his approach, painting the black, his bread and butter in the corners. He also has a full repertoire of pitches: fastball, changeup, curveball, slider, each its own distinct weapon and executed to perfection.

Even when Hyunjin knows what’s coming, it’s hard to pick up on the rotation of Seungmin’s throws, and he eventually gives up in favor of trusting that Seungmin will put the ball where the glove is, and stops straining his batter’s eye.

Truly, the only slightly erratic thing about Seungmin’s pitching is the fact that he’s trying to work in a knuckleball, which seems to be a newer addition, if judging by the way Hyunjin has to block a few of them in the dirt is any indication. Seungmin knows those pitches are a failure upon release and when he throws them is the only time he slips out of his gamer mentality for long enough to apologize.

“Sorry!”

“It’s fine!”

It’s partly Hyunjin’s fault, as well. He’s too absorbed in watching the pitcher’s delivery; the incredibly smooth lines his body creates as Seungmin winds up, kicks out, throws, and follows through. Despite the fact that he’s terrified of catching a ball to the face, Hyunjin doesn’t tear his eyes away from Seungmin until the very last second, and definitely to his detriment every time the aforementioned knuckleball is released.

Seungmin is captivating with a ball in his hand.

“You’ve gotten a lot better,” is all Hyunjin says as they wrap up, undoing the straps of the chest protector Seungmin had lying around in his storage closet and let him borrow. It fits a little too snug around the middle so Hyunjin’s now sweaty, having been trapped beneath the guard for the better part of an hour.

“Now that Seungyoun-hyung graduated, I’m the new team Ace, and it’s kind of a lot of pressure,” Seungmin admits, taking off his cap and ruffling the damp hair underneath. “I’ve been driving Changbin-hyung up a wall with extra practice sessions since we don’t have the kind of hitters currently to give me some breathing room during games.”

He gives Hyunjin a meaningful look.

“If this is your idea of a guilt-trip, it isn’t working. I haven’t played proper baseball in years.”

A tried and true excuse that Seungmin looks tired of hearing. “Please, I could practically see the way you were imagining yourself in the batter’s box. You _want_ to play.”

Hyunjin takes a sip from one of the milk cartons and avoids eye contact. “Maybe.”

He slowly sinks to the ground with Seungmin shortly following suit, the two of them in agreement to take a short reprieve before heading back. Hyunjin lays down, grass blades cooling as they tickle the back of his neck. The sky is a dark stretch of nothing, light pollution blocking the appearance of stars, although if he squints, Hyunjin can almost imagine the faint twinkling of satellites as they form their own constellations.

From beside him, Seungmin asks, “What’s holding you back?”

There is a beat of silence before, “Nothing,” Hyunjin answers truthfully. “In these last eight years, I’ve never been tied down to anything.”

He feels a heavy weight forming somewhere deep inside of his gut. Unspoken is the understanding that this way, it makes things easier for Hyunjin to quickly pick up and leave.

The sentiment is raw, like a festering wound. He feels guilty for the thick, cloying air that settles between them afterwards; for getting too vulnerable, too fast, even though it’s only a small glimpse into the complicated livewire that is Hyunjin’s mental and emotional state.

Seungmin simply hums, not for lack of words, but rather because he knows the last thing Hyunjin needs is some ill-conceived heart to heart when he still hasn't completely processed the move (or marriage).

Instead, Seungmin’s comfort comes in the form of distraction and in his not so subtle pursuit of getting Hyunjin to join the team. “Please? I need someone who can keep up with me at least part of the time.”

The cocksure way Seungmin says this makes Hyunjin snort in response. The pitcher’s mile-long competitive streak is masked via the illusion of indifference, so above it all he can’t be bothered to recognize the efforts of anyone else. Rather than coming off as condescending though, Seungmin manages to make it seem like he merely is playing in a league of his own.

Probably because he’s too cute for anyone to think of him as a villain.

Hyunjin locks eyes with the younger, the corner of his lip lifting into something like a smirk. “I would rock your shit, Kim Seungmin.”

“Oh yeah?” he says, clearly goading and enjoying every second. “Prove it.”

He gently taps the side of Seungmin’s head. “Just use your imagination.”

“That’s definitely something a benchwarmer would say.”

-

After a while, Seungmin eventually gets up and offers him a hand.

The middle schoolers have long-since cleared out, the hour approaching closer to 10, and completely quiet save for cricket songs and the occasional rumble of a car passing through. Hyunjin likes this time of night, when it feels like the universe is going to bed so Hyunjin must, too.

They spend another minute lazily packing up the rest of their equipment before heading out.

Conversation flows easily with the occasional pockets of silence that feel more comfortable than oppressive. Seungmin makes the mistake of asking if he still watches dramas, to which Hyunijn proudly proclaims yes, and then proceeds to spend the rest of the walk home expounding upon his favorites, the most carbon dioxide being created in praise of Heartless City.

He’s so preoccupied by the topic of Jung Kyung Ho being a superior actor that Hyunjin doesn’t even realize how they’ve already walked past Seungmin’s apartment complex and are more than halfway to his own. Hyunjin’s not too familiar with the neighborhood as it is, but Seungmin seems to be, and is leading the way with the confidence of someone who knows exactly where they’re going.

As it turns out, they only live a few minutes apart, six city blocks at the most.

“How do you know where I live?” Hyunjin asks, mid-sentence, when they make a left onto the start of the street of his new address. He recognizes the house at the corner, characterized by a driveway lined with white marble statues.

Seungmin's answering tone is nonchalant. “Because I know where Innie lives, duh.”

“You’re friends with Jeongin?”

This is news to him.

Hyunjin racks his brain for any instance in which either of them gave any indication that they know each other or that they know about Hyunjin separately.

Seungmin, at least, seems aware that Jeongin is Hyunjin’s family now.

“We played little league together all throughout middle school,” he explains. “And secretly, I kind of suspected you were the Hwang Hyunjin he was talking about when he told me his dad was getting remarried and that he was getting an older brother. Obviously, I turned out to be right.”

In retrospect, Seungmin didn’t seem all that surprised to have run into Hyunjin on that rooftop the day he first arrived. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he prompts. “I would’ve . . .”

Would’ve what? Acted differently? Taken advantage of this connection instead of moping around, wishing he and Seungmin were closer, or that he had an opportunity to meaningfully interact? Hyunjin isn’t entirely sure and so lets the sentence hang.

Seungmin doesn’t wait much longer for Hyunjin to finish and shrugs. “I figured you would tell me about it on your own time, without factoring in the fact that you would act as if I didn’t exist during school hours. Which I’m really curious about, by the way. Did I do something wrong?”

Trust Seungmin to be direct about the issue.

Hyunjin coughs to buy himself some time, prolonging the inevitable confession as his ears burn because he didn’t expect to be called out like this. “I guess it’s because I wasn’t sure where we stood between being friends and being strangers. So I chose the latter and didn’t know how else to act.”

He feels dumb for having to voice this insecurity aloud.

“I’m hardly a stranger,” Seungmin scoffs but his tone is unquestionably kind. He peers over at Hyunjin in anticipation of a response.

He points out the obvious. “Eight years is a long time.”

They’re different people now and have walked different paths, half of the Korean peninsula apart.

Seungmin skates past all of that though, as if it doesn’t matter.

“Obviously not long enough for you to grow out of your habit of overthinking things.”

They stop in front of Hyunjin’s building, standing beneath an overhang that casts shadows across the planes of Seungmin’s face.

The pitcher fidgets, clearly formulating his next sentence in his head before he says, carefully, “You’ll always be my friend, Jinnie. That won’t ever change. So next time, say hi.”

He sticks out his pinky, like they used to do as kids. When Hyunjin doesn't move to mirror the same, Seungmin then takes the liberty of grabbing Hyunjin’s hand and hooking both digits together. “A promise is a promise.”

Hummingbird heartbeat, Hyunjin watches as Seungmin heads home on his own.

-

Later, he dreams of baseball.

Of the dugout, the cheers, the camaraderie of it all. Hitting a walkoff homerun and having a group of people waiting for him at home plate as he circles the bases. Faceless teammates that radiate warmth. The Gatorade shower to follow. A standing ovation.

He dreams of Seungmin hanging back and waiting for everyone else to finish giving Hyunjin his props. Wide smile, open arms. The scent of sunscreen and musk and something that is entirely his own. His low voice in Hyunjin’s ear, excited congratulations. _Jinnie, Jinnie, Jinnie._

That night, Hyunjin dreams of baseball.

Baseball and Kim Seungmin.

Something inside of him _aches._

-

“Hey Jeongin.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m thinking . . . I’m thinking about trying out for the baseball team tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Player Profile: #11 Kim Seungmin**  
>  **Age:** 17  
>  **Position:** Pitcher  
>  **Pitching Stats:** 1.22 ERA (66 IP, 12 H, 2 R, 4 BB, 45 K)  
>  **Scouting Report:** Doesn’t usually throw heat, but has impeccable control of his pitches; knows how to paint the strike zone, and has the endurance to go 6+ innings every time. Can still hit 95 MPH when he wants to.  
>  **Other Notes:** Tired of people thinking he’s a big, fucking nerd. Even though he is.
> 
> it's been a long week. i hope you all are checking in with yourselves and taking the time and space you need to best take care of your mental, physical, and emotional health.
> 
> writing this fic has been very therapeutic for me. i'm extra excited to tackle the next chapter, which is tryouts!!! plus the rest of the boys make an appearance!!!! 
> 
> in the meantime, i'm [here](http://www.twitter.com/mola).


	4. base hit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- interrupting our childhood friends to strangers to friends to lovers arc to bring you gratuitous depictions of baseball  
> \- this is where the self-indulgent part of this fic really shines through  
> \- because mom put me in charge!!!!!

Over breakfast that next morning, Hyunjin picks at his toast and hesitantly asks Jeongin about tryouts.

“Hey Jeongin.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m thinking . . . I’m thinking about trying out for the baseball team tomorrow.”

There is a pause as his stepbrother stops to process this information, to formulate a response that won’t scare Hyunjin away, only their mom ends up beating him to the punch.

“Oh, how exciting!” She claps her hands using only the pads of her fingers. Tiny tears spring and well up in her eyes and this over the top reaction is precisely the reason why Hyunjin was hesitant to bring up the topic over breakfast and not on the bus ride to school.

Last night's dream is still fresh on his mind, so deeply resonant that he can recall every moment in perfect detail. This leaves Hyunjin convinced that if he doesn’t ask now, he’ll lose the nerve to do so later on. Plus, seeing the relief and excitement on his mom’s face is, admittedly, very nice. It’s just a bit dramatic considering Hyunjin’s only _thinking_ about signing up. He’s not sure how she’ll react if Hyunjin were to actually make the team.

(And despite assurances to the contrary, it’s absolutely a question of if and not when.)

Jeongin supplies, “Seungmin-hyung said not to expect anything out of the ordinary: warm-ups, running and fielding drills, and then batting practice. Most of the focus will be on our hard skills but he says Bang Chan is pretty big on attitude as well and to mind our behavior in between the different components.”

“Bang Chan?” Hyunjin parrots, the name sounding unfamiliar. But then again, all names except for Seungmin’s are unfamiliar to him as the new kid in school.

“He plays centerfield. Officially, this is his first year as Team Captain, but he’s been the de facto leader ever since Jaebum-sunbae blew out his ACL last season. Seungmin-hyung really looks up to him and says he looks after his players well.”

“Ah.” Hyunjin quietly absorbs all of this intel, absent-mindedly pushing a few remaining bites of scrambled eggs around on his plate. “Do you know how many spots are up for grabs?”

Jeongin downs the rest of his plum juice and goes to pour more. “Three or four, maybe? Mostly in-field positions, I think. There weren’t too many graduating seniors last year so I’m worried that competition’s going to be a little tight tomorrow.”

“I’m sure you’ll do great,” Hyunjin’s mom says reassuringly, despite knowing very little about the sport or the situation at hand; just blindly optimistic in the way all mothers are. “The both of you, I mean.”

Hyunjin pointedly reminds her that nothing’s guaranteed, both him making the team or even trying out in the first place. “And besides, I don’t have a glove or cleats or anything to bring with me.”

“You can borrow from me!” Jeongin jumps to offer, eyes widening out of concern that Hyunjin might back out after all. His stepbrother has become increasingly invested in the idea of joining the baseball team together, operating under the notion that it’ll only bring them closer as family, and has been dropping hints to this effect all week. It’s sort of cute, in a child-like sort of way. “I think we’re about the same shoe size.”

They’re definitely not, but Hyunjin doesn’t refute the claim.

For all of his hemming and hawing in front of an audience, Hyunjin has already made the executive decision to throw caution to the wind.

He’s going to try out. He’s going to make the team. He’s going to play baseball again.

-

_Or maybe not?_ Hyunjin thinks as he climbs the stairs up to his room after school. He drags his feet and backpack all the way, until he reaches his bed and collapses face-first into the mattress. His legs dangle precariously off the edge.

In his head, it’s so easy. Just show up and try out. Simple.

But Hyunjin can’t even psyche himself up to do that, some mental and emotional block preventing him from getting too excited or particularly motivated to go. Self-sabotaging, he can only keep going over the same memory of breaking the news to his coach and teammates that he’s moving, and reliving that small moment in between his announcement and everyone schooling their reactions into something more cordial - that tiny juncture of time where they are the most honest and thus, the most disappointed.

Hyunjin hates it. The memory and the feelings it evokes, having experienced it not only once, but _twice_.

How does that quote go again? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

Fool me _thrice_?

His pillow muffles Hyunjin’s frustrated scream.

-

It takes until third period English on Friday for Hyunjin to make up his mind about trying out for the team. Jeongin’s extra glove and cleats burn a hole in a mesh bag hanging in his locker and Hyunjin thinks about it all throughout the day, unable to focus on anything else.

He glances over to the other side of the room where Felix looks equally as distracted, fingers drumming against his thigh as he tries and fails to pay attention, brown eyes glazed over staring blankly at the blackboard.

Hyunjin feels the need to commiserate with the blonde over lunch, to complain about his nerves and the notion of tryouts and how there’s such a short window of time in which to prove yourself to a group of total strangers who know nothing about your history, the highs and lows of your baseball career; it all comes down to a few pitches, an unfortunate bounce in the dirt, the direction of the wind. Anything goes.

By the time school ends and Hyunjin finds himself making the somewhat familiar trek towards the baseball field, his stomach is already in knots. He has to take a few shaky breaths to calm himself because he doesn’t want to project an image that isn’t totally self-confident and assured. Even though Hyunjin’s feeling the complete opposite right now, and more and more like an unflavored wad of gum on the underside of someone’s shoe, there is something to be said about faking it until you make it.

He arrives to see a number of unfamiliar faces and is two seconds away from turning around and leaving before Seungmin rounds the corner from the bleachers and they make eye contact from across the field. The pitcher doesn’t wave, big and enthusiastically with both arms, but manages to give off the impression that he does so anyways, and Hyunjin smiles to himself.

Seungmin probably doesn’t want to demonstrate any outward signs of familiarity lest someone accuse him of favoritism, as he has a clipboard in his hands and that somehow makes him an Authority Figure along with the guy next to him, shorter, and with dark, curly hair. He’s well-built with a serious expression on his face and this is whom Hyunjin assumes is the team captain, Bang Chan.

Out of nowhere, Jeongin sidles up next to him. “That’s Bang Chan,” he confirms.

“I figured as much.”

“The coaches and other team members are gonna be evaluating us as well, but he’s really the one you have to impress.”

“They trust him that much?” It seems like a lot of power and responsibility to hand over to an eighteen year old boy.

Jeongin shrugs. “He’s more capable than most.”

-

After Coach Kang checks everyone in and explains the formatting and structure of tryouts, it’s finally time to start.

Hyunjin is nervous in a fluttery kind of way, like his heart and stomach are being suspended by some invisible string; a weightless sensation that’s not pleasant but not entirely unbearable. His arms and knees are basically spaghetti.

Everyone warms up together in the outfield, both established members and hopefuls alike. They start off with a few light stretches before moving onto lunges and skips.

Jeongin’s cleats pinch uncomfortably in the toes, a half a size too small, but not enough to disadvantage Hyunjin in any significant way beyond the occasional grimace. If anything, the pain keeps him grounded in the moment, not allowing his mind to wander into a headspace that will insidiously convince Hyunjin to quit.

Furtively, he takes this time to scope out the competition.

Felix and Jeongin are familiar faces. The former had grinned bright and wide when he spotted Hyunjin by the bleachers, arriving only a few minutes after him in mismatching shades of green on top and bottom. The Australian is far and away more flexible than everyone else around him, giving off the vibe that just because he’s not currently doing a full split, doesn’t mean he isn’t liable to drop down into one at any given moment.

A little further down, Hyunjin’s eyes are drawn to a figure with a severe resting bitch face, thinner lips pulled into an all too natural scowl. There’s something dark about his aura, even if he’s just silently stretching, and his muscles ripple in a way that Hyunjin envies in comparison to his own.

Moving on, there is a boy with chipmunk cheeks, the one he often sees at Seungmin’s side, vibrating at a frequency that could shatter glass as he talks the ear off of his handsome companion. The taller of the two has the biggest set of eyes Hyunjin has ever seen on a person, cat-like and observant. He is attractive enough to make Hyunjin blush when they accidentally lock eyes.

He spots another boy with thighs like tree trunks, one with an expression that looks like he’s perpetually stepped in dog poop, and others who Hyunjin wouldn’t be able to pick out of a crowd.

In total, he counts exactly 24 boys, eight of which are fixed members wearing matching track jackets in black and candy apple red. The math comes down to four open roster spots split amongst the 16 remaining people and equals out to be a 25% chance of Hyunjin making the team. Decent odds, but not so easily surmountable.

It lights a fire beneath his feet.

“Good luck today,” Felix whispers as they’re wrapping up and awaiting further instructions. “I’m glad you decided to come after all.”

The words are so sweet and sincerely spoken, it takes him entirely by surprise. This, despite the fact that Hyunjin’s presence means one more person to compete with.

He finds himself wishing the other good luck as well, because he thinks Felix is the kind of person who deserves only good things.

From there, Coach splits everyone into three groups that will cycle through four different components: hitting, fielding, pitching/throwing, and speed runs. He discloses that there will be two fixed players at each taking part in evaluations, while Chan and Seungmin and the other coaches float and do much the same.

Fortunately, Hyunjin gets sorted into the group that starts off with timed trials. Preferable, because it affords him some breathing room to ease into the process. 

They each begin with a 60 yard sprint and then take a few laps around the diamond to get a feel for base paths and how players choose to round the corners. Hyunjin goes on the occasional run for health, more endurance over speed, so his times for both could be better, but are by no means abysmal. He’s just thankful for being athletically inclined and for having longer legs with longer strides to give him that extra bit of an edge. Although even with extra training and conditioning, Hyunjin doesn’t think he’ll ever be a speed demon on the base paths. At best, he's capable of swiping a base or two in the rare instances where pitchers aren’t paying attention. 

He randomly gets paired with Shihyun for the throwing portion of the day, an excessively towering first year with mysterious, unevenly shaped eyes. They get loose by tossing the ball back and forth, progressively moving further apart in order to test accuracy and arm strength. One of his highlights is throwing a laser beam to third that short-hops only once into Shihyun’s glove. Hyunjin feels pretty good upon seeing the expression on a nearby coach’s face, eyebrows raised and furiously taking down notes.

This pride is promptly shattered when they move forward onto pitching. Hyunjin understands his limitations and doesn’t take this portion of his tryout very seriously, even though he still tries his best. One of his attempts at a slider sails over the catcher’s head and bounces off of the backstop, and Hyunjin’s kind of embarrassed about the bark of laughter Seungmin lets out from halfway across the field, but doesn’t dwell on it like he dwells on the next component: fielding.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

He watches a third year in his third tryout proceed to immediately kick a ball into the outfield. He somehow feels worse about seeing the guy fail because in his head he knows that _that could just as easily be me_.

Two more guys go and then it is suddenly Hyunjin's turn.

He swallows.

Theoretically, it’s only a matter of getting a ball into his glove and throwing it to the base that will best force a runner out. But in real time, there're so many variables to account for that take time and practice to hone and perfect: his positioning prior, in what direction the ball is hit, how many bounces in the dirt it takes before reaching his zone, how soft his hands have to be in order to keep and cradle the ball in his glove. And that’s just step one. Step two is then having to make a snap decision on where to throw, in a millisecond’s worth of time, while taking into account who’s on what base and where his teammates are at any given time, before releasing the ball and hoping it lands in someone’s glove.

To say Hyunjin is intimidated is the understatement of the century.

His first few attempts at fielding are passable, if not deliberately slow. His limbs don’t get tangled up with all of the extra movement, at least. At one point, Hyunjin accidentally pulls his glove back too fast and the ball bounces off his wrist and into the air, but Hyunjin recovers alright. He’s even starting to get the hang of it when Coach Kang switches him over to first base to turn a play and then Han Jisung happens.

Han Jisung. Second baseman, MVP.

 _A total showoff_.

He’s one of the fixed players helping out with the fielding component of tryouts and his over the top swagger is both a built-in personality trait and an intimidation tactic in one. Jisung doesn’t even have to say anything (although he does, quite often, and loudly at that) because his mere presence is a challenge to anyone hoping to share the same infield as him - a quality which Hyunjin finds simultaneously admirable and also deeply annoying.

Things come to a head though when, instead of letting an unfavorable ball pass and starting over, Jisung opts to make a wild save and then botch the throw over to first. It sails far left of the target, heading straight towards the dugout. Hyunjin, instinctively and also feeling the need to impress, lays out in order to get a glove on the ball that almost slips out of his reach. His teeth rattle inside of his head when he lands, roughly, and sees not only stars but red when he eventually gets up.

To his credit, Jisung _does_ come over to check if Hyunjin is okay, only his concern pisses Hyunjin off even more for being a band aid fix to a bullet hole Jisung had inflicted. Hyunjin’s already nervous enough about fielding and the whole debacle that is tryouts, much less have it be made that much harder by a showboat who’s already secured a spot on the team.

“Do you pull this kind of shit all the time?” Hyunjin mumbles under his breath.

“Excuse me?” Jisung bristles immediately. “Did you have something to say to my face?”

His temper flares, hot and heady. “Spare me the theatrics, asshole. In real life, that kind of play might make you look good on paper, but could have cost us the game if there were runners on base to take advantage of that toss.”

“Well maybe you should field better!” Jisung yells.

“Well maybe you should _throw_ better!” Hyunjin yells louder.

Other groups are starting to take notice, stopping what they’re doing to look over at the commotion.

“That’s enough,” Chan does not raise his voice above a certain volume, but everyone manages to hear him regardless. His expression remains neutral as he steps in between them two.

Hyunjin snaps out of his combative headspace for long enough to realize that he might have damaged his chances by picking a fight with another player. It’s certainly not a great display of character and does not bode well for team chemistry. It similarly doesn’t help that Hyunjin’s reputation for being an Ice Prince precedes him, because nobody wants to be on a team with someone who’s anti-social and uncooperative to boot.

“Everyone, get back to what you were doing.” It’s meant as a general statement and Chan doesn’t even look at him when he says it, but Hyunjin feels attacked all the same.

He watches as everyone scatters and resumes their former positions. Hyunjin mopes and drags his feet back to the bleachers where he sits a little bit apart from the rest of his group. Not that it matters, considering they were already cutting him a wide berth to begin with.

Jeongin, at least, gives him a sympathetic smile, but has his own fielding drill to worry about.

Seungmin drops into the seat beside him. “Well that was a bit not good.”

Hyunjin resists the urge to drop his face into his hands and whine.

“He started it.” 

To which the pitcher snickers in response. “Probably, since it’s Jisung. He’s kind of a hothead on the field, but overall a good guy once you get to know him.”

“I’m not so sure I want to, is the thing.” _Not if he costs me a spot on the team_ , Hyunjin thinks bitterly.

Seungmin seems to read his mind, as he is usually prone to do, and tries to project an aura of reassurance. “I’m sure Channie-hyung won’t hold it against you too much. Everyone could see that Jisung was in the wrong and nothing you said wasn’t something Jisung hasn’t already heard from coaches and Chan himself.”

Hyunjin senses a but coming on.

“But,” he sighs on cue, “you also didn’t do yourself any favors either, even if it _was_ a nice pick out of the dirt.”

Hyunjin huffs. “Don’t you have a tryout to monitor?”

Seungmin claps him once on the shoulder in a show of solidarity and stands to leave because he knows a dismissal when he hears one. “Good luck with batting practice, Jinnie. I’ll ask Jaemin to throw you a couple of slow ones down the middle.”

“Don’t you dare. I can't be dealing with accusations of nepotism as well."

Seungmin only laughs and leaves Hyunjin alone with his thoughts.

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to stew for very long because everyone rotates for the last time and it’s finally time to bat. Hyunjin walks towards the batting cages with more than a little pep in his step.

There’s just something so comforting about being inside the giant, netted square and the prospect of showing off what he can do with a bat to make up for his earlier transgression. It’s enough to silence all of his nagging insecurities, because if there’s one thing that Hyunjin is confident in, it is his hitting. Although, admittedly, it is different this time since he’s facing off against a person and not a machine. There's a learning curve to account for.

Hyunjin is due to bat third and takes advantage of this situation by carefully studying (who he presumes to be) Jaemin’s delivery and pitch sequence before it’s his turn to hit.

The sour-faced player from earlier is behind the plate, not allowing Jaemin to fall into any one particular pattern or habit, and displays a knack for calling for pitches that the first two batters either chase after or miss. Hyunjin’s rather disappointed that towards the end of tryouts and probably running on fumes, the catcher doesn’t just allow Jaemin to throw a steady diet of fastballs and is actually _trying_ to get hitters out.

Not that it matters either way to Hyunjin. He loosens his shoulders and hips with a couple of practice swings before digging into the batter’s box, enjoying the crunch of the dirt beneath the spikes of his cleats, and leans into his stance. Jaemin smiles and tips his cap and then winds up to throw.

The first pitch is obviously outside of the strike zone, which Hyunjin resists the urge to swing at because some primitive part of his brain thinks that making contact is better than taking a pitch. He only gets 10 to work with so anything that doesn’t showcase how Hyunjin can hit for contact or power feels like a waste, but he forces himself to be patient and treat this as a real at-bat.

Jaemin throws another ball, this time inside, and it’s a close thing but Hyunjin takes it, knowing that to swing would be to hit a weak grounder up the middle. He proceeds to foul off the next two pitches before getting something to work with. Hyunjin’s eyes widen at the gift thrown without much movement over the plate, lifts his leg, and swings with as much strength as his hips and arms can generate. The next few pitches go much the same way, solid contact, and one that might have been a homerun if they weren’t contained within the batting cage. Hyunjin feels an adrenaline rush that only builds with every wave of vibration that buzzes up from the sting of the bat through the tips of his fingers.

It’s as if all of his senses are coming out of hibernation and he’s seeing the world in high definition, like he’s been holding his breath for the last eight years and being here, on the field, the prospect of playing again, is physically opening up his lungs.

It feels like so many things, all at once. Overwhelming.

But mostly, Hyunjin thinks when he drives his last and final ball up the middle and in between Jaemin’s legs, it feels like being alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Player Profile: #03 Bang Christopher Chan**  
>  **Age:** 18  
>  **Position:** Center Field  
>  **Slashline:** .375/.600/1.15  
>  **Scouting Report:** Exhibits strong leadership skills, as is expected of a Team Captain. An above average fielder with a cannon for a throwing arm. There is no baseball stadium large enough to contain him when he gets a good pitch down the middle.  
>  **Other Notes:** Student Body President. Is just a tasteful amount of cringe.
> 
> changbin said fuck a sns ban and acab and i really respect that about him.
> 
> remember to practice kindness and self-care always!   
>    
>  [twt](http://www.twitter.com/stansmola)


	5. around the horn

Hyunjin finds out that he makes the team the following Monday, which is a much faster turnaround than he had initially anticipated, not that he’s complaining. Chan seems like the type to run a tight ship and be decisive in both knowing the gaps in his lineup and filling them as he sees fit. The news also comes as considerable relief since Hyunjin felt like he was walking on pins and needles all throughout the weekend and only amplified in Jeongin’s presence, the fox-like boy being ten times worse at hiding his emotions, and wearing every bit of it on his sleeve at all times.

It is actually through Jeongin that Hyunjin finds out, when the younger bursts into his room as Hyunjin is getting ready, brandishing a phone in his face pulled up to an email sent out less than a minute ago. He wouldn’t put it past Jeongin to have been lying in bed and refreshing his inbox all morning.

“Hyung! Hyung! We made it! We’re on the team!”

Hyunjin is in the middle of pulling on his shirt, straightening out the button-up over his plain, cotton tee before leaning over to skim the email in Jeongin’s hand.

_After careful deliberation . . . we have come to a consensus . . . want to congratulate . . . Lee Yongbok, Yang Jeongin, Jung Shihyun, and Hwang Hyunjin . . . please report to practice this Tuesday from 3-5:50 KST . . . Bring with you . . ._

“Wow,” Hyunjin breathes when he finishes reading. It’s a pretty mild response considering the sheer elation and euphoria burning its way throughout every nerve-ending in his body, pushing for Hyunjin to shout his excitement from the rooftops at the top of his lungs. Jeongin, likewise, looks only a heartbeat away from physically bouncing off of the walls.

Over on his desk, his own phone vibrates. From the preview screen, Hyunjin sees a series of excited text messages from Seungmin, the first ones he’s received from the younger since exchanging phone numbers on Wednesday. He’s smiling before he even opens the KakaoTalk app.

**KSM (6:58 KST)**

ㅋㅋㅋ

_I am so proud._

_I knew you’d make the team._

_Congrats Hyunjinnie!_

_Let’s have a great season together :)_

**Hwang Hyunjin**

dude why do you text like an old man

**KSM**

_Hurtful :(_

Over breakfast, Hyunjin’s mom is so overjoyed by the news, she hands over her credit card and tells Hyunjin to go out and buy new cleats and equipment after school so he doesn’t have to borrow so much from Jeongin anymore. The accompanying smile she gives him is sunnier than the rays that stream in through the kitchen window unimpeded.

“Um, thanks.”

Hyunjin hesitantly accepts and slides the card into his wallet, very much mystified by the situation at hand. Growing up in a single parent household that was constantly trying to make ends meet, Hyunjin has very little know-how when it comes to handling money, the majority of his experience limited to buying snacks and picking up stuff from the grocery store for his mom after school. Occasionally, on his birthday, they would go to a semi-fancy restaurant while his mom tried not to flinch when ordering something more expensive than the most basic items on the menu.

Consequently, Hyunjin has come to consider himself a frugal king, which roughly translates to not knowing the first place to go to for these kinds of things.

So he turns to Jeongin. “Do you wanna come with?”

He can almost see a tiny tail wagging when the younger tells him, “Yes!”

-

What started off as a two-man excursion turns into a group outing as Seungmin, Felix, and Changbin end up tagging along. Jeongin looks apologetic and explains that he had excitedly shared his after-school plans with everyone over lunch and Changbin had taken that as an invitation to come along since he’s in need of new batting gloves anyways. Seungmin’s just there to vibe, apparently, and is taking along Felix too.

Hyunjin shrugs, figuring he is going to have to get to know everyone on the team sooner or later, and since Jeongin and Seungmin are there, he has at least two lifelines to diffuse any tension or awkward situations. It’s interesting how quickly he’s come to rely on the two youngest members of the team, but unsurprising. Seungmin is merely picking up where he left off from their childhood while Jeongin is someone who naturally draws people’s affections outside of being a literal maknae and quietly dependable on his own right.

Of the two remaining, Hyunjin is most weary about Changbin, which turns out to be moot because the older is someone who is filled with natural and sometimes overbearing aegyo. He senses that the catcher is making an effort to put the three newest players at ease and gives in to a lot of Seungmin’s teasing, although theirs is a special kind of relationship; an unspoken bond between pitcher and catcher that’s transcended beyond the baseball field.

Hyunjin has the sneaking suspicion they’re holding entire conversations with just eye contact and the slightest variations in facial expressions alone, and possibly about Hyunjin, not to be self-centered. It just feels eerily similar to that first day of school, where he was convinced that everyone was staring at him only he didn’t have any proof. The battery have timed it so that neither are looking at him at the exact same time, turning their heads in tandem whenever Hyunjin looks their way. When Seungmin ducks, Changbin weaves.

They’re so in sync, it’s scary.

Hyunjin’s only a little bit jealous because he wants to have that type of connection with someone, not necessarily Seungmin. But maybe especially Seungmin because it used to exist between the two of them before time and distance severed that bond.

Felix, on the other hand, is someone who simply radiates warmth, the excesses of it leaking through every pore in his body. He’s also new this year, straight out of Sydney, Australia, and still a little clumsy with his Korean but much better at it than he gives himself credit for. His smile is entirely infectious.

“Where are we headed?” Hyunjin asks, but only after they blow past the bus stop to Sinsa-dong and are heading towards the subway instead. He can already spot swarms of people pushing past each other down the stairs, which makes him weary of accidentally getting separated from the group despite the fact that they had exchanged phone numbers earlier to avoid that very situation.

Changbin clears his throat, clinging to the walls in an attempt not to get trampled as they descend down into the station. “There’s a pro shop in Itaewon that gives discounts for students. My buddy Wooyoung recommended it to me the other day.”

“Oh, I love a good sale.” Because it’s true.

The journey there is about a 20 minute subway ride in the middle of rush hour, so at some point, Seungmin and Jeongin end up vying for space on Hyunjin’s lap. Changbin and Felix are in a world of their own having been pushed towards the other end of the compartment, facing each other on either side of the pole grip by the doors. Every time the train lurches to a stop to let off and on more passengers, they are jostled closer and closer together. He sees the tips of Felix’s ears grow redder as their fingers brush on the railing, two beacons that broadcast everything the younger is currently feeling.

“Cute,” Hyunjin says aloud, observing them in small glimpses through shifting gaps in the crowd. It’s difficult since neither of them are of considerable height, but Hyunjin’s too invested in their burgeoning relationship to fully give up.

“What?” Jeongin asks, head on a swivel trying to locate what Hyunjin is referring to.

“Changbin and Felix.”

Seungmin snorts, not usually one for gossiping, but willing to make an exception if it means teasing his Binnie-hyung. He leans back further into Hyunjin’s chest, close enough so that they can hear his voice at a whisper even though the other two pose no threat of listening in. “You should have seen how distracted he was by Felix all throughout tryouts. It was sweet until I got really concerned he was gonna catch a fastball to the face.”

“It’s not like Jaemin throws that hard anyways.”

Jeongin ignores the jab and nods sympathetically. “Lixie-hyung _is_ very pretty. Like a fairy!”

“What about me?” Hyunjin jokingly pinches his thigh. “Tell me I’m pretty, too!”

Jeongin squirms in his lap, centimeters from falling if it weren’t for Hyunjin’s arm wrapped securely around his waist. “No way, hyung. You’re totally clapped.”

“Hey!”

Seungmin laughs and falls the rest of the way into Hyunjin’s embrace. Wisps of brunette hair tickle against his nostrils, the scent of laundered cotton and spiced, French vanilla. “I think you’re pretty Hyunjinnie.”

“No, _you’re_ pretty Seungminnie.”

“If you two are going to flirt, please do it somewhere not in front of me!”

“Don’t be jealous Innie. You’re pretty, too!” Seungmin pinches the youngest’s cheeks despite there not being enough of it to get a good grip. Jeongin is 99% cheekbones and 1% actual cheek.

The maknae threatens to box Seungmin in the streets, emitting a high-pitched whine as he tries and fails to escape. Hyunjin holds him in place so that the pitcher can get both hands on both cheeks, squishing and rolling them between his fingers like mandu while Hyunjin’s own fingers are bracketing Innie's sides. It isn't long before he gives into the overwhelming urge to tickle the younger.

Jeongin stubbornly refuses to call truce despite their team effort and can barely breathe in between involuntary giggles and promises to end both of their lives.

They get a few amused looks from their neighbors on the train, indulgent smiles at the sight of high school boys with their high school antics.

_This is nice_ , Hyunjin can't help but think in the midst of all the chaos going on. Riding the subway with friends after school, the easy banter, and the comfortable companionship.

It’s just . . . nice.

-

The pro shop owner turns out to be a former softball star with kids of her own, greeting them all heartily from behind the counter before graciously deciding to bump up the discount to 15% since Jeongin is so cute. Everyone’s amazed and consequently convinced that it would take only one dimpled smile and a finger heart for the boy’s charm to vanquish capitalism itself.

Hyunjin finds comfort in the sterile white lighting that better displays the range of clothes and equipment found throughout the store. There is a surgical neatness to the layout, everything having its own proper place. Hyunjin could do without the strategically placed mannequins decked out in luxury sportswear though, entirely headless yet managing to give off the impression that they’re watching his every move. Hyunjin’s not _not_ convinced they don’t also change poses whenever his back is turned or he's paying only slightly less attention.

“I can feel them staring,” Hyunjin complains, retreating to the back wall where all the running shoes and cleats are up on display. He picks up and puts down a few different options upon checking the price tags, planning on buying a pair with a decent cost to quality ratio. He wishes he had done some more research during lunch instead of spending so much time perusing now, but knows he’ll never be the type of person who goes in and out of stores once they’ve gotten what they needed.

“Shouldn’t you be used to that by now?” Changbin asks, waving a hand over his face in reference to Hyunjin’s own. “You’re a good-looking dude.”

He refrains from rolling his eyes, not wanting to make it seem like his general annoyance over the phrase/sentiment is in any way pointed. “I would prefer for people to look at me when I’m giving them a reason to. Not just because I . . . exist.”

The older smirks, the action also raising an eyebrow in tandem. “I’ll tell Seungmin to knock it off then.”

_???_

_!!!_

“Um.” Hyunjin freezes at the implication that the pitcher finds him attractive enough to stare so much his platonic life partner's noticed. His internal systems take several long seconds to reboot and even when fully operational, cannot come up with a response more eloquent than spontaneously combusting. So by default, Hyunjin laughs it off in a nervous attempt to be casual.

Changbin, for the most part, looks too smug to be convinced but good-naturedly skirts past the subject with a few possible suggestions for cleats. “I’m a big fan of the Huarache Elite’s, but you strike me as a New Balance kind of guy.”

He ends up being right upon further consideration - Hyunjin _is_ a New Balance kind of guy, whatever that’s supposed to mean.

Shoe box with his correct size tucked neatly into his side, Hyunjin and the older boy then wander upstairs where the rest of the guys are browsing bat models under a dedicated “HS Regulations Approved” section.

“Man, I love the feel of a wooden bat.” Felix takes a check swing with the one currently in his hand, reverent in the way he grips the sleek, glossy handle. There are hums of agreement from all those around, even though they all use the standard aluminum sluggers provided by the school or ones they’ve purchased separately because the aluminum material lasts longer. Wooden bats are exclusively Big League stuff to teenagers without access to Big League money.

“Hitting just feels more authentic with one,” Hyunjin agrees.

“That’s assuming you can make contact.”

“Seungmin, how many times do I have to tell you that I would ride your shit into outer space?”

“Ha, emphasis on the OUT. I could sit you down on three pitches.”

“Yeah right.”

“Absolutely.”

“Knock it off ladies, you’re both pretty and good at baseball.” Changbin steps in because Felix and Jeongin are too busy laughing to be the mediator. Hyunjin and Seungmin could go all day like this without someone to stop them from living out their best bickering to lovers life. “And also, I’m getting hungry.”

On cue, everyone’s stomachs rumble together like a church choir, harmonization and all.

They check out swiftly after that, Hyunjin paying for his cleats and matching batting gloves with Changbin (“We love a couple look,” the senior said, waggling his eyebrows to which Hyunjin responded with an elbow to his gut. Secretly, he kind of likes the association but will never admit it aloud; can only imagine how unbearable Changbin would be with that kind of knowledge.)

As they’re waiting outside for Felix to wrap up, Seungmin sidles up next to him out of nowhere and carefully hands him a bag. “A gift," he says. "To welcome you back."

“A gift? For me?” It suddenly makes sense why the younger was so insistent that Hyunjin pay for his stuff first. _Sneaky._

“Obviously for you.” Seungmin rolls his eyes fondly. “Nothing big, but I figured if you still sweat as much during games as you used to, it will come in handy.”

“Can I open it right now?”

His ensuing groan is adorable. “Yeah, go ahead. Take a look. But don’t thank me until later because I’ll get too embarrassed and flustered right now.”

Hyunjin doesn’t have to be told twice.

Eagerly, he separates that paper handle and opens the bag. At the bottom, standing out because they’re the only things in there, is a matching wrist and hairband set in his favorite shade of blue. The material looks absorbent and more importantly, soft to the touch. Hyunjin wants to take it out to admire, but figures that doing so would fall too in line (at least tangentially) with Seungmin’s request and so leaves it be. Still, he thinks the dopey expression on his face broadcasts his appreciation all too clearly because Seungmin can’t stand to look at him any longer and instead turns his attention towards the sky - to the sunset hues they love on full and vivid display.

“Welcome home, Jinnie,” he whispers.

The words get carried away in the accompanying breeze.

-

Hyunjin calls to tell his mom that he and Jeongin are staying out for dinner with some teammates and she is, as expected, completely dramatic about it. He can hear her trying to hold back a wail, settling for muted sobs over the crackly phone connection as she tells him to treat everyone to dinner with her card.

“Are you sure?” He’s pretty certain they could collectively eat a restaurant out of business if they really put their minds to it.

Hyunjin can’t see her, but can imagine the bounce of her curls as she nods her head vigorously on the other end of the line. “Jinnie, I’m just so happy and I hope you’re happy, too. Really, truly, genuinely happy. And that you won’t just say it back because it’s what you think I want to hear.”

Hyunjin takes a steadying breath, heart pinching but not entirely from pain. There’s love and gratitude in heavy portions mixed in there as well.

“I’m happy that you’re happy." It's the most truthful thing he's said to her in a while. Hyunjin’s not sure what happiness really looks or feels like anymore, but he's been closer to it in Seoul than he has anywhere else they've lived in the past.

“As for me? I’ll get there soon.”

Hyunjin means it this time, too.

-

_“What!?”_

Seungmin takes it as a personal attack when Felix reveals that he’s mostly been subsisting off of convenience store food since he doesn’t know how to cook and isn’t familiar with Korean cuisine.

“That’s blasphemy. You’re mad.”

To recompense, he drags the group to a nearby BBQ restaurant where he orders Felix a bowl of kimchi chigae on the side as an attempt to ease him into the traditional dining experience. Meanwhile, everyone else orders rounds of pork belly and brisket and soda to wash it down.

Jeongin, surprisingly, takes charge of being grill master and appoints Changbin as his sous chef (a title without meaning since Changbin never gets his hands on the tongs even once). With ample care, the maknae expertly cooks the meat and metes out equal portions onto people’s plates as they all dig in with a chorus of thanks. Hyunjin ends up having to pop a few wraps directly into Jeongin’s mouth when it becomes evident that he’ll grill until he’s thoroughly finished the job.

“How’s the chigae?” Seungmin asks, watching as Felix eats around the tofu - which is totally valid in Hyunjin’s opinion. He once told Seungmin as kids that tofu was an acquired taste, to which the younger vehemently disagreed because ‘ _tofu doesn’t actually taste like anything, are you being serious right now Jinnie?_ ’

Felix eats another spoonful before replying, “I’m not used to these flavors, but I think I like it!”

"Of course. It's basic."

Changbin asks for a bite himself and when Felix says yes, rather than digging in with the spoon conveniently placed beside him, simply opens his mouth and waits for Felix to feed him instead. “Ahhhh~”

It’s almost cute if it weren’t also absolutely abhorrent.

Jeongin groans at the rom-com playing out before them and also at how greasy Changbin is acting while still managing to play it off. “How did I become a _fifth_ wheel when it's only been a couple hours?”

“How are you going to defile my favorite food right in front of me?”

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything. He just takes a selca and manages to squeeze in not only the lovebirds as Felix goes to feed Changbin a second bite, but the other two’s exaggeratedly disgruntled expressions as well. And in the bottom corner of the photo, slightly out of frame, Hyunjin’s smile beams brightest of them all.

-

Dinner proceeds as it began: chaotically. Food, jokes, and insults fly across the table in rapid-fire measure. He’s sure some of the meaning flies over Felix’s head, but the blonde is a good sport about it and isn’t afraid to join in on the fun. Seungmin is also pretty good about switching between Korean and English every so often, if only because he wants to flex the fact that he can talk shit in multiple languages.

Hyunjin grows more comfortable as the night goes on.

At some point towards the end, Seungmin and Changbin leave to buy something from the corner store and Jeongin excuses himself to go to the restroom and wash his hands. Hyunjin quickly tries to come up with a conversation topic so as to not sit in silence with Felix for however long until someone gets back, only his classmate has already come prepared, and turns to Hyunjin with a purpose.

“I’m glad you ended up trying out for the team after all.” Felix grins at him from across the table. “I never properly thanked you for those tips on my swing.”

“I appreciated the banana milk you dropped off,” Hyunjin waves it off, feeling somewhat embarrassed talking to Felix about this and having the physical proof of it creep up his neck in a flush that reaches his face. He had been so dead set against being on the baseball team up until a few days ago, only to turn around and eat his words.

Hyunjin finds that he has no regrets, however.

“What made you change your mind?”

He starts tearing into a napkin for something to do with his hands. “Nothing in particular. I just missed playing more than I thought I did.”

“How long has it been?”

“Eight years and some change.”

Felix’s lips form into the shape of surprise. “I can’t even imagine going so long without playing. When my dad asked me to move here with him, I made sure our school had a halfway decent program before I committed to transferring. Otherwise, I would’ve stayed back in Sydney with my mom and sister.”

“Really? You uprooted your entire life based on whether or not our school had a baseball team?”

The blonde elaborates that didn’t want his dad to be alone, even if it would only be for a couple of years while he fulfills a contract job with the Ministry of National Defense. “And it’s comforting,” he explains, pushing around the remnants of tofu sludge in his chigae. “How you don’t have to know Korean to play baseball. It’s the same game, everywhere you go.”

“Except for the designated hitter,” Hyunjin jokes and Felix laughs. It undercuts the serious air that settles around them, not uncomfortable but heavier than either of them want their friends to come back to. Looking back, he’s grateful that Felix felt he could be so open and honest with Hyunjin in that moment.

“Yeah, except for the designated hitter.”

They both agree. “American baseball is weird.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Player Profile: #04 Seo Changbin**  
>  **Age:** 18  
>  **Position:** Catcher  
>  **Slashline:**.318/.720/.999  
>  **Scouting Report:** Power hitter and Golden Glove-type catcher. Impeccable pitch-calling and a strong arm that discourages runners from attempting to steal an extra base.  
>  **Other Notes:** The only one on the team with a (dump truck) ass and knows it. Sometimes insufferable, always adorable. Everyone's favorite and go-to hyung for advice and good-natured teasing.
> 
> I love *clenches fist* SKZ friendship. And slow burn, although I think it’s time to speed that part up a little bit next chapter ;)
> 
> I've also been pretty good about updating weekly, but have since caught up to the more detailed parts of my outline, so who knows what my writing pace will look like going forward. Rest assured though, I'm completely obsessed with my own fic and will try to push out stuff as fast as I can write.
> 
> Have a great week everyone!
> 
> [twt](http://www.twitter.com/stansmola)


End file.
